


The Modern Woman

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baxter goes against her better judgment to have an illicit rendez-vous with a female member of staff. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Modern Woman

The girl's lips were petal-soft, her hand unsure as it rested first on Baxter's shoulder, then on her cheek. When Baxter pulled away, the girl had a delicate blush on her face. Pink lips parted, she murmured, “Oh, Miss Baxter,” in a tone that sent a shiver down Baxter's spine. 

But it was foolish. The whole endeavour was foolish, and it was unlike Baxter to have let go this far. A few nights of mending aprons over the electric machine, a few strolls through the forest, and Baxter was in a position she'd vowed never to be in again. She forced a smile, ignoring the plaintive look on the girl's face, and said, “Good night.” 

“Wait.” The girl reached out. They were alone in the kitchen, everyone long since retired. The girl stepped forward, closing the gap Baxter had tried to put between them. She moved closer still, until their bodies touched and Baxter could feel the girl's heart, racing like a rabbit's beneath her layers of clothing. 

“What is it?” Baxter asked, affecting innocence. It was a little late for that, really, but she had no other cards to play, and she wasn't Barrow. He'd told her how he'd put it on the line for a beautiful boy, risked everything and very nearly lost it all. Baxter didn't take those sorts of risks. She was cleverer than Barrow. She always had been, no matter what he thought on the matter. 

The girl parted her lips again. A cheeky sliver of tongue peeked out to wet them. It was a gesture of anxiety but Baxter had to look away to keep from giving in and kissing her again. “Please,” the girl begged, and Baxter's stomach flipped. 

She couldn't. “I can't,” she said. “We can't.” 

“Why?”

The reasons were innumerable. Baxter clung to the most convenient. “You're a virgin.” The girl nodded, although it had not been a question. “And you're very young.” 

A frown, evidence of a tempestuous nature hidden beneath a veil of sweetness, passed over the girl's face. “I'm not so young as all that. I know what I'm about. And I know what I want.” Baxter doubted that very much. Still, the girl put a bold hand on Baxter's chest, cupping one breast. She made Baxter do the same, lifting Baxter's hand and resting it on her breast. Baxter squeezed, gently, and the girl's breath caught. “Please,” she said, again, and Baxter sighed. She was many things, but she was not a saint. 

“Come here.” The kitchen was too public, too risky even at this time of night. Taking the girl by the hand, Baxter pulled her into the boot room, where nobody was likely to venture. “We have to be quick.” The girl nodded, even as Baxter felt a pang of regret at her own words. She would have liked to take her time, to undress the girl piece-by-piece, to explore her luscious body and show this young virgin just how much pleasure could be wrought from it. Instead, Baxter put her arms around the girl's still-clothed body and kissed her, allowing her tongue to explore the girl's mouth as she nudged her backwards. When they reached the table, Baxter drew away and helped the girl up, until she sat atop it. “You're certain?” The girl nodded, eager as a puppy. Baxter couldn't help but smile. She let her hands go to the girl's legs. Slowly, carefully, she began to gather the thick folds of the girl's skirt in her hands, moving her hemline upwards inch by inch. The girl's eyes flitted back and forth, between Baxter and some point in the distance, but Baxter didn't drop her gaze. She would have liked to look down, to see the creamy skin slowly and tantalizingly reveal itself, but she didn't want to miss any signs of discomfort, and she wanted to give the girl every opportunity to stop. She made no indication she wanted to. Rather, she shuddered when Baxter reached her thighs. Baxter let go of the skirt and trailed her fingers along the delicate skin, drawing invisible patterns as the girl looked her in the eye. “Please,” she repeated, her voice bolder this time. 

Like every woman, the girl was forced into a complicated—and needless, in Baxter's opinion—system of corset and stockings beneath her dress. There was no time to unfasten it all, much as Baxter would have liked to. She settled for teasing her way up the girl's suspenders, slipping her narrow fingers beneath them and letting them snap back. The girl gasped, then giggled. Baxter unfastened one, the accompanying stocking immediately slouching around the girl's ankle. The girl continued to smile. Baxter unfastened the other stocking and removed the last bit of fabric obscuring her goal, leaving the girl bare below the waist and seemingly happy about it. 

Baxter was happy, as well. A nest of fair curls sat between two pale thighs, beautiful and alluring. She longed to dive in but still, she restrained herself. She traced the outer lips delicately, with the tip of one finger, her eyes on the girl's face. The girl sighed a little, her eyes slipping closed even as her legs fell open. She was damp, a good sign, and Baxter allowed herself a little more boldness. She circled the lips again, pressing more firmly, then dipped her finger inside. As suspected, the girl was virgin-tight. She whimpered, and Baxter pulled out. “No,” the girl glanced down, her voice quavering. “Don't stop, please.” 

Baxter obeyed. She pushed her finger inside again, a bit less gently this time. The girl moaned. She moved in and out a few times, and the girl squirmed on the table. “Shh,” Baxter said, automatically soothing. The girl stopped, and Baxter dropped to her knees, draping the girl's legs over her shoulders. 

The first taste was sweet, sweeter than Baxter remembered, but it had been so long, she scarcely remembered anything at all. She dipped her tongue in lightly, a cat daintily licking up cream, then planted her hands firmly on each of the girl's thighs. With her thumbs, she parted the girl's lips, exposing her core. She set her mouth flush against the girl's groin, her tongue probing as deep as she could, all daintiness abandoned in favour of long, firm strokes that had the girl's thighs trembling and her breath coming in long, loud gasps. Pointing her tongue, Baxter moved up, to the centre of the girl's pleasure. She touched it, barely, with the very tip of her tongue and the girl's thighs clamped around her head. 

_How unfortunate_ , Baxter thought, not for the first time, _that girls are taught nothing of pleasure. _She doubted this girl had ever even touched herself before. No wonder it came as something of a shock to find oneself capable of those sensations, that something like that could come from a part of the body they had learned to think of as dirty and forbidden. Baxter eased the girl's thighs apart again, planting reassuring kisses on the skin. The girl quieted, a little, and Baxter returned to her task, circling the nub of nerves again. The girl was soaking now, her wetness coating Baxter's mouth and tongue. Baxter had missed the feeling. She moved down again, kissing deep inside the girl, one hand releasing the girl's thigh to rub at her gently and then firmer, pushing against her again and again until the girl panted and moaned and came.__

__For a long moment, Baxter stayed where she was. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, making herself as neat as possible. Then, as she was about to stand, the girl's hand came down and rested on her hair. “Miss Baxter.” She was breathless. Baxter stood up. If the girl had been beautiful before, then she was exquisite now, her cheeks and throat flushed crimson red, her eyes bright, her hair half-falling from it's careful bun. Baxter examined her carefully for any sign of regret. Seeing none, she ventured a joke._ _

__“I think you might call me Phyllis,” she said._ _

__The girl pulled her in close, wrapping her legs around Baxter's body and holding Baxter's face in her work-roughened hands. She kissed Baxter wantonly, her tongue twining with Baxter's as if they had always been together, then she pulled away, slightly, to pepper kisses on Baxter's cheeks. “Thank you, Phyllis,” she murmured._ _

__Baxter smiled. She couldn't help herself. “You're welcome, Ivy,” she said, as one of Ivy's hands wandered down to her breast and the other, inexpert but keen, reached for her skirt._ _


End file.
